


Full Service

by joyfulseeker



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 04:03:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2095008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyfulseeker/pseuds/joyfulseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Walk me through your stretch-out thing. You've done it enough, I bet you can show me what to do." Jonny swings his feet to the floor.</p><p>“Okay,” Patrick says slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fourfreedoms (dark_reaction)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fourfreedoms+%28dark_reaction%29).



> All praise and blame must go to fourfreedoms for this one, who not only prompted this story, but encouraged mightily, answered all my meticulous questions, and then beta'd for me. Oh, also, she put up with me running away to a place with no internet at a remarkably inopportune time.

Patrick’s been grousing on the other bed ever since they got back to the hotel. 

It started just as grumpy exhalations and now has progressed to non-stop bitching about how he should have gotten himself stretched out properly after the game, he got all put off by people making a fuss about getting off the bikes and back to the bus, it screwed up his routine and he missed out.

Jonny, tired and nursing a bruise on his own hip from an embarrassing wipeout, is about ready to just switch the light off and see if that magically shuts Patrick up, like his great-aunt’s parrot who also liked to complain non-stop. He glances over. Patrick’s got that wrinkle in his forehead that he gets when he’s honestly in pain. He’s rubbing fretfully at his leg, long strokes with the heel of his hand down the outside of his hip, across his quads, to the inside of his thigh.

“Your leg bothering you?” Jonny gestures between their beds.

“ _Yes_ , asshole,” Patrick says. He flops back onto the mound of pillows he’d made against the headboard.

“Did you take ibuprofen?” Jonny asks. 

Patrick rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother to answer. He goes back to pushing at his thigh. 

Jonny had noticed that he was being even more diligent than usual about stretching before, during, and after games and workouts, hitting the foam roller pretty hard and working with the massage therapists and trainers a lot, but he hadn’t thought much of it, other than being grateful that he could always count on Patrick to take care of his body.

“You injured?” he asks.

“Not really,” Patrick says. “Just tighter than usual. You know, sometimes I seriously think Jeff’s a sadistic asshole, but you really can’t get the stretch right on your own.” He’s got his leg curled to his chest now, the other stretched straight in front of him.

Jonny sits up. “You need help?” He’d thought Patrick was just complaining about not being able to do his five hundred steps for post-game proper grooming. But a real problem, a hockey problem, Jonny’s happy to do what he can.

"I'm fine," Patrick says glumly. Typical. 

"Walk me through your stretch-out thing. You've done it enough, I bet you can show me what to do." Jonny swings his feet to the floor.

“Okay,” Patrick says slowly. He drops his leg back to the bed and shuffles down so he’s lying mostly flat on the mattress.

Jonny kneels on the bed, knee-walking up to get between Patrick’s sprawled-open legs. It's not until he's shouldering Patrick's leg up and feels the muscles of his thigh twitching against his collarbone that Jonny thinks maybe he should have put a shirt on. They're both just wearing boxers. Patrick's bare leg is slung over Jonny's shoulder, calf pressing against his back. If anyone walked in it'd look pretty incriminating.

Patrick makes a low, messy sound when Jonny presses forward, pushing Patrick's leg in toward his chest. 

"All right?" Jonny says.

"Fine," Patrick grunts, and then he looks at Jonny's face and starts laughing. "Why are you all red? You working hard?"

"Not a chance," Jonny says, and tries to get his face under control. He presses in harder, but that only backfires on him, because Patrick groans again, and his heel twitches against Jonny's spine. He feels himself blushing. Patrick has some sort of weird physiology so he never particularly seems to flush, not even when he’s going hard on the bikes, but Jonny’s not like that, and whenever he’s aware he’s turning red, that just makes it worse.

He looks down and keeps pressing against the resistance of Patrick’s leg, until Patrick says, breathless, “Okay, that’s good, I need a break.” Jonny eases back and lowers his leg to the bed. Patrick has his palm pressed to his forehead and is taking in long, deep breaths. 

When he moves his hand and opens his eyes, Jonny says, “Again?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says.

Jonny wraps his hand around Patrick’s knee and lifts it up again. The mattress flexes underneath him when he leans forward, an added degree of uncontrolled movement that settles more of his weight on Patrick than he meant to.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Patrick groans, heavy on fricative.

“Sorry,” Jonny mutters, and backs off. “This isn’t the best set-up.” 

“No, it’s helping,” Patrick says. He’s got his eyes closed again, arm up above his head, fist clenching and opening. It makes the muscles of his bicep and forearm stand out in relief. When Jonny looks back down, Patrick’s eyes are open. He was staring up at the ceiling, but his gaze flicks down and connects with Jonny’s for a second before they both look away.

Eventually, Patrick says, “Okay, down.”

“Is that good?” Jonny asks, settling back on his heels. Patrick’s pushing at his thigh again, frowning.

“No,” Patrick says. He sounds almost sulky. 

Jonny looks at the ceiling and then squints at Patrick. “High maintenance, eh.” He holds up his hands. “You want me to?” He’s had this done before, though not as much as Patrick.

“Yeah,” Patrick says. He blows out a breath when Jonny presses the heels of his hands into the long muscles of his thigh, working his way up from knee to hip. "Like that. But more pressure."

Jonny shifts back down and tries again. Patrick twitches underneath him as he gets into a rhythm. Patrick's leg hair is rough on the palms of his hands, his skin starting out a little cool and warming as Jonny continues his massage.

"Good face, Toes," Patrick says after a while. His voice is scratchy.

"Hm?" Jon says absently, and then realizes he's been pressing his lips tightly together in concentration.

"Now you're all blushing again," Patrick teases.

"Shut up, Kaner." Jonny pushes down more firmly on the next stroke. If Patrick has enough attention to spare to make fun of him he must be doing something wrong.

Patrick makes a gratifyingly choked sound before he relaxes under Jonny's hands.

"More to the outside?" he says after a while. “And, lighter. Fuck, that hurts.”

Jonny gentles his touch, moves into broad strokes. This whole experience has been a lot more intense than he expected. He’s not ignorant of Patrick’s body, but he feels a lot more aware of it now, his stocky, dense muscles, the way he responds when Jonny touches him. It’s turning him on in a way that feels extremely inappropriate. Patrick has a hand resting on his own stomach, the fingers curling and releasing in time with Jonny’s movements. It draws Jonny’s attention down to where he can see that Patrick is stiffening up in his shorts. Even just noticing that feels like crossing a line.

Jonny clears his throat, and finishes with his hand safely resting on Patrick’s kneecap. He gives it a tentative squeeze and sits up. “Is that better?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, blinking slowly. His eyes flick down and then back up to Jonny’s face, and, if Jonny had known how this was going to go he really would have gotten dressed first.

He’s just starting to let go when Patrick reaches down and covers Jonny’s hand on his knee.

“Thanks,” he says. “That was really good.”

“You’re welcome,” Jonny says stiffly. His face feels like it’s on fire, and he can tell Patrick notices because of the little quirk of a smile in the corner of his mouth. It’s also turning him on more, so he’s starting to feel the constriction of his boxers and, fuck, he can tell Patrick’s noticing that, too.

“You do this?” Patrick asks quietly. Like they haven’t been rooming together for two years. Like he doesn’t know.

“Not really,” Jonny admits. He presses his lips together, then blows out a breath. “You?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Patrick says. “Not, uh. In a while.”

“You want to? With me?” Jonny asks. Patrick’s hand tightens on Jonny’s.

“Yeah,” he says.

They just look at each other for a long moment, almost surprised, or, at least, Jonny is. He’s got a twinge in his belly like fear or anticipation. He can’t disentangle the two.

Jonny moves first. He’s already kneeling between Patrick’s legs, so it’s easy to shift forward and lean down, plant his hand on the mattress near Patrick’s side and hover over him. He licks his lips and Patrick mirrors him. He can’t quite make himself bridge the gap between them yet, stays suspended there while he thinks about plausible deniability. Patrick’s eyes dip down, travel from his lips to his chest, then back up to meet his gaze. Next door, someone is watching television, the sound coming faintly through the wall. Inside this room, all Jonny can hear is the sound of his own breathing while he thinks about what he could do here. 

Patrick lets go of his hand and reaches up to grasp Jonny’s shoulder, helping him come down. He plants his other hand on Patrick’s other side and dips until he can feel his body heat all along his front. Patrick smells like deodorant and his shampoo, and a little like sweat. He smells like mornings in their hotel room, familiar but coded into something new. Jonny just barely has time to notice before he’s following the urging of Patrick’s hand down so Patrick can kiss him. 

Patrick has a clever mouth on him, fast-witted and agile, but the way he uses it when he kisses makes Jonny forget to be careful, sinking more and more weight onto him until he gasps into Jonny’s mouth.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Jonny says, shifting to the side. Patrick just follows him until they’re pressed together again from hip to chest on their sides. Jonny cradles Patrick’s head, sinking his hand into the curls at the base of his neck.

Patrick’s hand comes down and grasps at the bulge in Jonny’s shorts, rubbing roughly along Jonny’s cloth-covered dick, which is enough to make Jonny lose the thread entirely, pulling away to pant against Patrick’s collarbone. His pulse is going in his neck, in his ears, in his dick in Patrick’s hand. He’s a lot closer than he meant to be, probably because he just had a half hour of what felt like sex noises going in his ear, connected to Patrick’s body under his hands.

“Fucking hell,” Jonny says wetly. “Get it. get it. out.”

Patrick laughs, but his hands are moving carefully anyway, easing down Jonny’s boxers just enough.

“I love this,” Patrick mutters. “I mean, girls are great, but, god, guys are _easy_.”

Jonny means to respond, he feels a prick of irritation at the casual confidence going on here, but Patrick chooses that moment to close his hand around Jonny’s dick, working at it with the same assurance he had when he was whispering in Jonny’s ear.

Jonny makes a garbled, incoherent noise instead, and is rewarded by Patrick’s hand tightening and picking up speed. He’s leaking steadily over Patrick’s fingers, which makes everything slicker and smoother.

“Harder,” Jonny grunts, and Patrick laughs again before he does it. 

Then he’s back, nosing his way up Jonny’s neck, running his lips along Jonny’s jawline until Jonny has to take his chin in hand and bring it up to line up with his own, tilt his head just slightly so they can kiss while Patrick works him up higher and higher. His heart’s going like a drum, hips working against Patrick’s body. He wraps his leg over Patrick’s. His boxers are biting in around his thighs as he grinds closer and he doesn’t even give a shit, he’s so near to coming. Patrick works his hand up and down, squeezing right at the head as he rolls his wrist. It’s obscene what he can do, how he can make Jonny feel right now, he thinks, right before Patrick twists his hand again, and then Jonny is coming between them.

“There we go,” Jonny hears dimly. When he opens his eyes wide from where they'd squeezed closed, he's draped with Patrick underneath him, shifting restlessly and mouthing at Jonny's shoulder. His eyelashes scratch against Jonny's neck.

"Come on," he says, with increasing urgency.

Jonny rolls off him. "What about your leg."

"What about it," Patrick says.

"What if you tense it up again?"

"Are you seriously going to make me sign off before you'll touch my dick, this is just," Patrick says, flopping onto his back.

"I just did all this work, I'm not looking to waste it," Jonny says, grasping around until he reaches Patrick's hipbone. He squeezes and then slides his hand across his stomach. Patrick arches into it. It's gratifying, as is the irritated huff Patrick gives when Jonny goes to draw his hand away.

"I'll stay real still, come on, Tazer."

Jonny makes like he's going to think for a while, running his fingers across the hair on Patrick's belly, mostly as revenge for that _easy_ remark, before he turns on his side and dips his hand under the waistband of Patrick's shorts. 

"Jesus-fuck," Patrick says when Jon wraps his hand around him. His hips jolt forward. Jonny lets go, and this truly amazing whine comes from Patrick's throat.

"Stay still," Jonny says.

"Sorry," Patrick breathes. He has his mouth open and his eyes closed, his arm back up by his head. It's a mirror image of before, but Jonny's guessing he's not in pain now. His dick is flushed and obvious in his shorts, leaving a wet spot on the fabric, which is already distended by Jonny's hand.

Jonny worms his hand back out and brings it to his mouth so he can wet his palm. He reaches back in and feels Patrick twitch when he accidentally grazes his fingertips over the crease between Patrick's hip and groin. 

"Ticklish?" he says.

"Uh huh," Patrick says. "Just a little." He's chewing on his lip when Jonny looks up, eyes still closed.

Jonny closes his slick palm around Patrick's dick and watches as he bites down harder and then eases off, over and over, licking over the bitten part of his lip each time. It's mesmerizing. He starts to move his hand in a slow counterpoint to that rhythm. His motion is constrained by Patrick's underwear, the angle awkward. He tries to just make a tunnel with his hand, working it up and down as much as he can, but he can tell from the way Patrick is starting to shift around on the bed that he's looking for something else.

"What do you want?" Jonny says.

Patrick spreads his legs a little, until he bumps into Jonny on one side, and brings his hand down to tangle around Jonny's on his dick.

"Can you, um, touch, touch my leg," Patrick mutters. 

Jonny shifts over more and squirms down the bed so he's curled over Patrick's body, his head level with Patrick's chest, and trails his unused hand over the same thigh he'd been massaging. The angle for his hand on his dick is terrible, now, he's just grasping at the base while Patrick strokes it nonstop, but he still feels it twitch when he runs his fingers over the muscles of Patrick's leg.

"It just. Feels really good," Patrick says in between breaths. His voice rattles through Jonny's head where he's resting on Patrick's chest. "I don't know, endorphins."

"Uh huh," Jonny says. 

Patrick's stomach is flexing in minute pushes, in and out in his field of vision. His other hand comes down and tangles in Jonny's hair briefly, then moves to his shoulder and trails down to his side, like he's looking for something to hang on to. He paws at Jonny's head again in some rough approximation of affection before lifting his hand up and collapsing it back above his head. They're curled so close together and Jonny's touching so much of him, that he can feel how Patrick's orgasm starts with his muscles clenching in his legs, ripples through his spine, and then relaxes.

Eventually, Patrick sighs and pulls his hand out of his shorts. He brings his other hand down and strokes along Jonny's back until Jonny lifts his head and slowly starts to disentangle their bodies. He's pulling up his underwear, resituating his junk, when he sees Patrick rotate his leg a little.

"Are you serious," Jonny says.

"Uh, pretty sure that's you, man," Patrick says.

"It's tweaking again, isn't it."

"It just tensed up a little," Patrick says feebly.

"Unbelievable," Jonny says. He gets up and moves to the bathroom.

Behind him, Patrick says, "What are you—" before the water in the tub starts going.

When Jonny returns to the main room, Patrick has sat up on the bed. 

"Are you running me a bath?" he ask. 

"Full service," Jonny jokes. He has to look away from the way Patrick's face softens at that, like he did something good but surprising.

"Thanks," he says. 

Jonny looks up and smiles, and then turns to start hunting for another pair of underwear. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Patrick get off the bed and walk toward him.

Patrick touches his elbow. "Thanks," he says again.

"You're welcome," Jonny says. He's starting to flush again, he doesn't know why.

Patrick puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes, then rises up and kisses him on the mouth. It doesn't last long. He's settled back on his feet, letting go and moving past Jonny toward the bathroom before Jonny's stopped replaying the upward tilt of his head right before he kissed him.

Jonny swallows, still tasting him on his lips. He switches off the light on his side of the room, leaving the one on Patrick's side on. He gets in bed and rolls onto his side, and is still lying awake when the water stops running. The water makes raindrop percussive sounds and swishes against the side of the tub as Patrick moves around. 

He’s listening to it idly as his eyelids get heavier and heavier. He doesn’t know how long Patrick stays in there. Jonny’s asleep before he gets out.


End file.
